Sailing at Sunset - Cindi Madsen Page 0,59

members, and a place where they can upload their own bucket items.”

“We could also provide incentives for people who post about their adventures on our Barton boats,” Vanessa said. “We’ll cheer them on as they complete their bucket lists, and they’ll be boosting our social media and publicity reach in a way that comes across as natural and effortless. The boats will essentially sell themselves to their families and friends.”

Danae asked Franco to go back to the first slide again. Since she’d practically memorized the plan she’d proposed, it was easy enough to see the modifications. Whether or not Danae liked it, life and the pace people lived it was forever changing. Same as the market, and if she had her way, eventually their target demographic.

Not that she wasn’t grateful for Barton’s clientele, but if they widened their reach, they could unearth new consumers. She’d always viewed change and risk as enemies. If she could find a way to embrace them in a lower-risk way, it would help the business and her nerves. Win, win.

“Having everyone’s perspective has made this version so much stronger,” Danae said. Relief also coursed through her, along with a silent plea that everyone might actually agree on this strategy. “Everyone in favor of going forward with this edition, say aye.”

One by one, everyone added their ayes.

“Yay, I’m so excited!” In addition to bouncing in her seat, this time Danae added a quick golf clap. “Now that we have an approved five-year plan, we can really dig in and get the ball rolling on our new campaign.”

Danae flipped to the page of stickers in her planners, searching for the perfect one. The multicolored HOORAY! caught her eye, so she peeled it off and placed it next to the meeting they’d just wrapped up.

Twenty minutes later, they had reached Nantucket Island and were seated on a gorgeous sandy beach, soaking up the sunshine and fresh air.

Danae handed out the sub sandwiches and salads she’d purchased at the market near the marina. She tossed a pile of condiment packets in the middle, along with bags of chips.

Ugh, pickles. The sandwiches had been wrapped in cellophane, so she’d snagged several and hoped for the best.

One by one, she picked off the offensive green circles. Biting into a sandwich or burger with pickles was like discovering that the brown bits in your cookie were raisins instead of chocolate chips.

“Wait. Are you…?” Josh frowned at the pile, and she thought maybe they offended him as much as they offended her. “You’re removing the pickles?”

“Yeah, they’re disgusting. I’m trying not to think about how they touched my food, or I’ll go to take a bite, and that’ll be all I taste.”

“They’re my favorite.”

Danae made a sour face. “Ew.”

“More for me, then.” Josh opened up his sandwich and piled her pickles on top of the ones already covering the ham and cheese, while she added mayo to her sub and reassembled it. Then he took a giant bite and added an over-the-top mmm.

“Hey, maybe if you cook them a special way like you did the fish, Danae will eat them,” Vanessa said with a laugh.

“Hard pass. It’s not just the fermented cucumbers I object to. It’s—”

“Vinegar,” Mark supplied. “She can’t stand the smell or the taste.”

“Growing up, my mom used it as a cleaner. I’d come home and the entire house would reek.”

Mark grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth. “Remember when you refused to add it to your Easter egg dye, even though the instructions required it?” He chuckled. “Her eggs were so sad-looking because none of the colors took. They just looked dirty.”

Danae laughed as well. “We went to Mark’s parents’ and none of the kids wanted to find, much less touch my eggs.” She’d forgotten about that. Her distaste for vinegar, not so much.

After lunch, as they were cleaning up so they could head to their next destination, Vanessa stepped up to Danae and held open a trash bag. “So?” she whispered as Danae tossed the garbage inside the bag. “What’s the deal with you and Josh?”

Unable to help herself, Danae glanced over her shoulder. Josh was shaking sand off the blanket they’d sat on, and a flutter went through her stomach as she took him in. As casually as she could, she shrugged one shoulder. “It’s…I…There’s not a deal. He’s nice. A good sailor, too.”

“There’s nice, and then there’s sharing a blanket and picking at each other’s food. Seemed like a couple kind of move.”

Oh no. Her stomach plummeted